


When the Earth Begins Again

by real_live_angelface



Category: Captain America (Movies), Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel/Demon Relationship, Apocalypse, Bucky Barnes as Crowley, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Good Omens AU, Heaven & Hell, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Other, Steve Rogers as Aziraphale, The usual U.S. English bouquet of bad language words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23529748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/real_live_angelface/pseuds/real_live_angelface
Summary: Steve and Bucky, of Heaven and Hell respectively, have gotten pretty attached to Earth. So it comes as a great shock when they find out that it's all about to end. Heaven and Hell are amassing their great armies yet again. The Four Horsepeople have been summoned. Everything is going according to the Big Plan...except for the fact that the Antichrist isn't cooperating. You know, because of that pesky Free Will thing. Can Earth's resident ethereal-occult tag team find a way to help the Antichrist stop Armageddon before it's too late?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 25
Kudos: 64
Collections: Shrinkyclinks Fest 2020





	1. Winter Demon, Sunlight Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Good Omens/MCU mash-up AU written for Shrinkyclinks Fest 2020. Prompt #8: Good Omens AU, Bucky is Crowley and Steve is Aziraphale. Requested by an absolutely brilliant anonymous person. I really hope you enjoy this, whoever you are!
> 
> Categorized as "M/M" because that's basically standard Stucky classification, and "Other" because I consider angels and demons to be essentially genderless and/or genderfluid. The pronouns used in the story align with canon.
> 
> There is a playlist to go with this fic!  
> You can listen on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0r9MkVRggt4X9WhOQc5rJF) or on [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL5RGXg5PbjlUlkmS9UhIE1oz1ntaeLvUh).
> 
> Many, many thanks to my beta extraordinaire, [snycock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snycock).

**In the Time of Eden**

The demon Bucæruziuthanes padded quietly through the Garden, a strange feeling of accomplishment mixed with regret settling across his powerful, furry shoulders. He’d done what he’d been asked to do, and now it remained to be seen what would come of that. Adam and Eve had eaten of the apples on that weird tree that God said nobody could touch and-

“Hey, you! Wolf-demon!”

Bucæruziuthanes whirled, sitting half-back on his haunches. He couldn’t really talk in this form, his jaw being more designed for crushing and howling and the like, so he settled on an intense stare in response, instead.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking to you.”

It was that short and angry angel. The one with the lock of golden hair falling over his eyes and the white wings that out-sized him by half and dragged on the ground behind him as a result. The one who guarded the Eastern Gate with a big, flaming shield that appeared to have been wrought of pure gold. Bucæruziuthanes stared his hardest stare, hoping that would suffice to put an end to the conversation. He wasn’t even supposed to talk to angels.

For all intents and purposes, Bucæruziuthanes was a Very Bad and Unwholesome Being, but the angel seemed to be oblivious to this, advancing at a rapid pace until he was toe-to-toe, or rather, toe-to-paw with him.

The angel drew in an indignant breath, his eyes sparking with divine wrath.

 _Oh Heaven, he’s a zealot,_ Bucæruziuthanes thought wearily to himself.

“You’re the one that convinced Adam and Eve to eat the apples, aren’t you?” the angel asked.

Bucæruziuthanes blinked slowly and licked his jaws.

“If you think you can just sit there and stare at me with those green eyes of yours, you’ve got another think coming,” the angel said. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done? You’ve set them loose on a cruel world with no practical working knowledge of life and no way to defend themselves-”

This was not going where Bucæruziuthanes expected at all.

“-and Eve is expecting already and that’s just...it’s just...cruel, is what it is. Even by Hellish standards. At this rate, they’re going to die before they have a chance to do anything Good _or_ Bad. So it seems pretty damn pointless to me.”

Bucæruziuthanes tilted his head in surprise, and the angel rolled his eyes.

“Can you not talk in that form? Well, good. I’m fine just talking _at_ you for the rest of eternity if it turns out there’s nothing better to do.”

“Rooowooorrrr,” Bucæruziuthanes growled, abruptly shifting into his human-like form, brown hair flowing down to his shoulders in a cascade of waves, crow wings unfurling behind him, his left arm – the one made of ice - glimmering within the belled sleeve of his black tunic.

“I- wow,” the angel said, craning his head back to look up at him.

Bucæruziuthanes knew how to make an impression when he wanted to, and if he’d decided to manifest into the form that showed his strength and terrible beauty to best effect, well, that was nobody’s business but his own. He grinned wolfishly.

“You were saying?”

The angel blinked. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I introduced myself. I’m Steve.”

“Steve?” Bucæruziuthanes asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. It’s a nickname.”

 _Steve the Angel_ , Bucky thought. That sounded like the most unangelic name ever, but who was he to judge.

“My name is Bucæruziuthanes,” he replied. “I don’t imagine your real name is as bad as mine, whatever it is.”

“Bucær-what?” Steve asked.

“See what I mean?” Bucæruziuthanes sighed. “Everyone calls me Bærnz.”

“Bærnz,” Steve said, looking thoughtful. “I dunno. It’s all right.” His face lit up as if the sun had just come up over the horizon. “Or, well, how about I call you Bucky?”

Bucæruziuthanes narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but it seemed that Steve was being serious. What an innocuous epithet. This Steve really didn’t seem to know anything about choosing names.

“You do realize I’m a demon.”

“It’s kinda hard to forget,” Steve said, his ears turning red.

“Right,” Bucæruziuthanes said, trying his best to maintain his demonic composure at the sight of Steve turning redder by the second. “Fine. You can call me Bucky.”

“Okay,” Steve said, grinning. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

“Likewise?” Bucky said. He wasn’t really sure yet. But mostly because he was really, really enjoying Steve’s angelic grin and he really, really didn’t want to admit it.

“So, are you gonna help me help these people?” Steve asked. “There’s a lion stalking them right now. I’m going to go chase it off.”

“Good grief,” Bucky said, not even sure what else to say. He’d never met anyone quite like Steve before, much less an angel like him.

Steve tilted his chin up. “Come with me or not, I don’t care. But you can be sure you’ll hear about it later, either way.”

Steve turned on his heel and marched toward the Eastern Gate, his shield burning brighter as if in reflection of his stubborn determination. And well - damn him all over again - Bucky found himself following along, after all.

**In the time of the Ark – Mesopotamia, 3004 BC**

Bucky wandered closer to the crowd, staring in consternation at the giant ark perched on the sand off in the distance. It was currently being loaded up with a bunch of paired animals, one of which had just slipped its halter and cavorted off across the dunes.

“Hey, Shem!” he called. “That unicorn’s getting away.”

Shem waved at him absently and went back to trying to persuade a pair of gazelles to stay in the queue while a pair of cheetahs swiped playfully at their hindquarters.

“They haven’t really thought this through, have they?” Bucky said to the man next to him.

“I don’t even understand _what_ they’re doing,” the man said, rolling his eyes. “That’s Noah for you.”

A storm brewed off in the distance, blocking out the sun, bearing down on them faster than Bucky thought was strictly natural. He squinted his eyes at the bright flash of golden light that lit up the underside of the dark clouds, and the crowd burst into chatter around him.

“What the Heaven is that?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s that crazy angel,” the man answered, laughing. “Thinks he can single-handedly fight a storm.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Bucky let out a frustrated growl, manifesting his wings through his leather coat of armor.

“You’re a demon.” The man staggered back and looked up to the sky. “God forgive me. Please. I didn’t know-”

“Oh, good grief. You do realize she doesn’t care about you, right?” Bucky pointed to the ark. “You have a spot reserved on that thing? Because it’s about to _rain._ ”

The man’s eyes widened, but Bucky didn’t wait to hear his response, rising into the air with a mighty leap and flying toward the bright flashes of light in the distant sky.

The storm was farther than it had looked from the ground, and Bucky hadn’t been flying much lately, so he was grouchy and wing-sore by the time he got close enough to yell over the cacophony of wind and thunder.

“What the Heaven are you doing?!” he boomed in his extra-loud demon voice.

Steve was in the midst of battling a bolt of lightning, shield raised up in defense against it’s blast. It was nearly impossible to look at him straight on. With a sickening sizzle, the bolt retreated back into the clouds and Steve turned.

“Oh, hey, Buck,” he said, panting. “How’s it going?”

“You can’t fight this storm, Steve,” Bucky yelled. “This is Divinely cast and you know it.”

Steve pointed down to the Earth. “Everyone down there is about to drown, and I won’t stand for it.”

“For God’s sake,” Bucky said, then yelped as a bolt of lightning flashed toward him, barely managing to dodge it in time. Probably wasn’t the best idea to take the Lord’s name in vain at this proximity to Heaven. He flew in next to Steve.

“How the Heaven haven’t you been cast out yet?” he demanded.

“I don’t think that happens anymore,” Steve said, pushing the hair out of his face. “Not since the War.”

“Oh,” Bucky said.

Steve flung his shield straight into the storm, flames spinning out from the edges and deflecting the bank of clouds by about ten meters. It came ringing back at full speed and Bucky blinked as Steve casually caught it and flung it again at another perfect angle.

“Well, you _do_ know how to handle that shield,” he said, despite himself. “I’ll give you that.”

“Surprised?” Steve asked.

“No,” Bucky said. “Stop being difficult. I’m on your side.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. “My problem isn’t with your fighting. It’s with your strategy.”

Before Bucky had a chance to react, Steve pulled him close and raised his shield to cover them. The shield tolled mournfully as another bolt of lightning struck, the air buzzing around them. Bucky could feel Steve’s ribs pressing in against him with every heaving breath. He could smell him, too. A strange mix of orange blossoms and ash.

“You were saying?” Steve asked, his arm shaking with the effort to hold the bolt back.

“What?” Bucky had completely forgotten what they’d been talking about.

“About my strategy?”

“Oh yes,” Bucky said. “It’s terrible.” He raised his left hand and blasted the lightning bolt with full force. It froze, an ice sculpture zig-zagging back up toward the clouds, and the storm itself stilled around them.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Steve said, into the ringing silence. He lowered his shield, squinting up at Bucky. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Bucky said, a bit more fondly than he meant to. He glanced at the storm. It was bearing down on them ominously, lightning writhing in roiling coils inside of the clouds. The bolt Bucky had frozen was thawing quickly, melt water dripping down the edges and falling toward the Earth like rain.

“Look,” Bucky said. “How about we go down there and rescue all the people, instead?”

“That’s your proposal?”

“It’s a good strategy. Much better than this fight, _which you will never win_. Fight smarter, not harder. That’s what I say.”

The storm grumbled around them as if in agreement.

“All right.” Steve set his jaw. “Let’s do it.”

“Thank God,” Bucky said, under his breath. This time, the lightning didn’t try to strike him down at all.

**Meanwhile in Heaven**

The first meeting hadn’t really been a meeting. Just one angel showed up, and when he came into the room, he sat down with a look of consternation on his face. Clearly, he needed to talk, but he was too afraid to do it in front of the Archangel fucking Samael.

“Welcome,” Sam said, when it became evident that no one else was going to show up. “This is the first meeting of our Post-War Recovery Group. Basic precepts are that nothing you say here will leave these walls.” He motioned to the meeting room around them. “This is a safe space, so you can say whatever you need to say. And you have the option of remaining anonymous, as well.”

The angel raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, you can just use a nickname if you want,” Sam said. “And not give any information about your assigned sector. And if we ever see each other outside of here-”

“Pssh, fat chance,” the angel interrupted.

Sam blinked. “Uh, what?”

“We’re never gonna see each other outside of here. You know that. You’re a prince among angels and I’m just a foot soldier.”

“There’s no hierarchy here,” Sam said. “Here I’m just...Sam.”

“Huh,” the angel said, looking thoughtful. “Well, all right, then. You can call me Riley.”

“Hey, Riley,” Sam said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

And it really was, he realized, after he said it. He’d conceived of the meeting idea shortly after the Archangel Council had implemented the new Free Will protocols in a universe-wide attempt to make amends for the devastation caused by the War in Heaven. He had noticed that some angels weren’t adjusting very well since the fighting had ended. Angels like himself. Ones who had suffered as they fought, instead of relishing the opportunity to commit violence unpunished. Ones who couldn’t stop thinking about it even though it was over. Ones who had lost friends and companions in the Fall.

He’d wanted to create a safe space to connect across sectors, across hierarchies. To bring all of the angels who still suffered into a sort of secret camaraderie with each other. He did it because he wanted it himself. Archangels didn’t have many friends, and they certainly weren’t friendly with each other.

Sam had had one friend, once. An angel who went by the name of Steve. But things had changed after the planet Earth was created. Steve had been assigned to permanent duty down there, and as was bound to happen, the stream of regular correspondence they had faithfully kept eventually slowed to a trickle, and then none at all. It didn’t help that Steve was a stubborn, impossible idiot. It hadn’t taken long for the other Archangels to renounce any responsibility for managing “that angry angel,” and so it had all been left up to Sam. He had been tempted to wash his hands of the situation, as well, but it felt a little too much like abandoning Steve altogether. He finally compromised by creating Redwing, an elemental drone made of air and the bright edges of sunset. It had been keeping an eye on Steve ever since.

Sam had considered talking with Steve about his idea for the recovery meeting before posting an anonymous announcement to the general Heavenly news feed. He had almost written to him, too. But trying to keep up with the constant stream of reportage from Redwing almost constituted a full-time job and somewhat dampened Sam’s affection. And then the news came across his desk. Steve had started consorting with some demon. Sam had never spent much time on Earth, but he assumed that if Steve was that far gone, then they must not have much in common anymore.

Nevertheless, without quite understanding why, he had kept that most damning piece of information back from his regular wrap-up report about Steve. And even to this day, nobody knew about Steve and his demon friend except for him.

Two decades in, and the recovery meeting attendance was beginning to swell. Sam attributed it to Riley, who was as social and friendly as he was, only without the limitation of an Archangel status.

“I don’t understand why we got into a War in the first place,” Riley was saying now, during his share, while twenty or so other angels listened attentively. “I’ve heard, more than a few times, that the War started because God and Lucifer had a shouting match at the South Heaven Café and God threw a jelly doughnut at Lucifer’s head.” He paused, closing his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, did we go to War just because of a misunderstanding? Did God even explicitly say that we should go to War? Does anyone know for sure? Or did we do all the horrible things that we did based on some half-formed idea? Did we lose half of our hosts, half of our friends, for nothing?”

A ripple of unease traveled around the room.

“And then halfway through the War She starts cranking out planets here and there,” Riley continued. “Life in the midst of Destruction. Birth in the midst of so much Death. So I ask myself, could we have stopped fighting then? Did we keep going because it’s what She wanted, or because we didn’t know how to stop?” Riley sat back. “That’s all I have to say for now.”

 _Oh, no_ , Sam thought, as Riley met his eyes. _It seems I have a type_. He’d only just started getting to know Riley, through his shares and their brief conversations during fellowship after the meetings. Sam had glimpsed a hint of it before and ignored it, but now it was unmistakable. That rebellious streak. Just like Steve’s. Only Steve was a supernova, demanding attention, and Riley was a black hole, quiet and unassuming. Worst of all, Sam was now struggling to tamp down on the terrifying sense of excitement that was threatening to come barreling out of him. He’d never dared breathe a word of such doubt before. But he’d been feeling it. Oh, yes, he most definitely had. Especially since the War. He hated to admit it, but it was probably one of the main reasons he started the recovery group in the first place.

After the meeting, Riley came to find him as he hovered on the edge of the room, ruminating on everything that had come up for him.

“Hey, Sam,” Riley said. “You won’t say anything, will you? About what I shared?”

Sam frowned. “Who do you think I am? Some Free Will denier?”

“Well, that’s the problem right there,” Riley said. “It’s hard enough to come here and be honest about how I’m feeling without knowing that at the end we’ll be back to our usual business. And you’ll be up there in your fancy corner office, watching the rest of us.”

“Is that really what you see when you look at me?”

“Yeah.” Riley shrugged. “I mean, sort of. I feel like I don’t really know you.”

“I take the anonymity and confidentiality of this group very seriously.”

“I figured you might say that.”

“You know at least that much about me, huh?” Sam asked. “Well, that’s great.”

Riley laughed. “Hey, you can’t blame me for being nervous, right? I don’t think you realize how you’re so...you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asked, genuinely affronted.

“Let me start over,” Riley said, shaking his head. “I got scared and put my foot in my mouth, okay? The truth is that I’d actually like to get to know you. I’d like to look at you and see a friend. A real friend.”

Sam hesitated, but he saw nothing but goodwill and genuine concern shining out of Riley’s eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “Yeah, I’d like that, too.”

A few decades after that, Sam walked into his office and found a red-haired spider-demon perched in his chair. His first instinct was to press the alarm button on the door, but the demon raised a hand, and the look on her face was pleading enough that his finger stopped a hairsbreadth short of the button.

“You do the recovery meeting,” the demon spoke, in a monotone.

“What? How the Hell do you know about that?”

“I have many skills,” the demon said, a passably coy expression crossing her face, but she looked to be in too much pain to put much effort into it.

“Which I assume would explain how you even got here in the first place,” Sam said, making a mental note to personally review all of Heaven’s security protocols.

“I need help,” the demon said. “There are no recovery groups in Hell.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Sam said, even as he thought about how this demon had once been an angel, too.

“I can’t function like I’m supposed to,” the demon said. “I don’t know what that means here, but in Hell, there’s nowhere else to Fall.”

“There’s no way this can work,” Sam said.

“You are good at keeping secrets about angels and demons,” she said.

 _Damn it_ , Sam thought. “You know about that?”

“I owe the wolf-demon my life several times over. I have been keeping his secret as well.”

Sam sighed. “What do you need?”

“Let me come to the meetings.”

“Are you-” he sputtered. “There’s no way- How would- Shit.”

“One: I’m not crazy, I’m desperate,” the demon said. “Two: we have Free Will now, don’t we? And the meetings are anonymous and confidential, aren’t they? So what’s the difference if there are angels or demons there or both? Three: we could have the meetings on neutral ground. Maybe one of those stupid planets your God made.” Her eyes flickered. “Not Earth. A different one.”

“Shit,” Sam said, wishing the demon wasn’t in his chair. He needed his chair right about now. He needed to bounce this off Riley. He needed Steve to stop pulling stupid shit for two fucking seconds, please, so that he could get through the paperwork on his desk. He needed about a hundred different things right about now.

“Think about it,” the demon said, rising. “I will tell you my true name, as a sign of good will. My name is Natasanderits, but most call me Natasrit. You can reach me here.” She dropped a flaming business card on his desk. “It’s a secure line.”

“My name is Samael,” Sam said, because he simply could not bring himself to take a name given in good faith and not give his own in return. “And...I can’t promise anything. But I’ll talk to my group. See if they’re okay with having a new member.”

“Thank you,” Natasrit said, and it looked like she really meant it.

It was a hard sell, as Sam had expected, and their acceptance of Natasrit as a member really had more to do with Riley than it had to do with him. Everyone liked Riley. He was a gifted speaker, earnest but not pushy, direct but not unkind. Even when he talked about controversial topics in group, as he often did, the others gave him the benefit of the doubt. They even seemed to appreciate him all the more for doing it.

When Sam called the demon to tell her the news, he didn’t think she’d actually answer, so he was surprised when she did, sounding terse and imperious over the line.

“Hey there,” he said, feeling caught out. She sounded so different than when they met in his office.

“This isn’t a good time.” Her voice had softened, barely audible now. “Give me ten minutes, okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, then dropped the receiver back in its cradle, trying to ignore the alarm bells going off at the back of his head. He was an Archangel. What was he _doing?_

He tried to get some work done, but he kept thinking of what this inter-spheric communication all meant. He’d always assumed that Heaven and Hell were meant to be kept as separate as possible. But God hadn’t stepped in to stop it yet.

Riley was right about that, he was forced to admit. God hadn’t stepped in on anything since halfway through the War, and yet everything kept going, presumably running on the back of some semi-collective decision-making process which he knew for certain had been heavily shaped by the angels at the top of the hierarchy. Angels like himself. At the time, he had thought it was the right thing to do. Now he wasn’t so sure.

He jumped when the phone rang, though he should have expected it. It was exactly ten minutes later.

“You’re in,” he told Natasrit, and gave her the details regarding the planet they had selected.

“Oh, I know that one,” she said. “I destroyed one of its moons.”

“That was _you_?” Sam asked. “Did you even consider what that would do?”

The planet hadn’t really been the same since.

“I was in a bad place,” Natasrit said. “Maybe one day I’ll actually be able to talk about it. But for now, I must go. See you soon.”

“Bye,” Sam said, hanging up again, and this time, it felt a little easier to accept that this was really going to happen. A demon meeting with angels. For a good reason. For a healthy reason. Hell, he might even end up becoming _friends_ with this Natasrit.

Never in a trillion years had he imagined that he would end up having quite so much in common with Steve, after all.


	2. Real Live Angelface

**In the time of Terror – Paris, France, 1793 AD**

Steve faced the executioner, standing tall despite the dried blood smeared across his upper lip, despite his mud-covered breeches, his torn coat and his missing neck cloth. He tested the manacles on his wrists, but the metal was unforgiving. He couldn’t use a miracle now, not after the big one he’d pulled to transport himself to Paris in the first place. It would draw too much attention. 

“Ah-ha,” the executioner was saying. “I heard that you took it upon yourself to come around and push Barère’s nose in. To show him the proper way of doing things. Well, let’s see what you think when I take your head.”

"Do what you will,” Steve said, gritting his teeth as the noise of the crowd outside the prison swelled, accompanied by the swish and thunk of a guillotine blade. “Discorporation won’t stop me,” he continued. “I’ll just come back, you know.” 

“Excusez-” The executioner froze, ice riming across his face.

Steve frowned, whirling on his heels to come face-to-face with a glowering Bucky, clad head-to-toe in black silk and lace, his hair pulled back into a severe queue. He wore a black glove over his left hand, but now the fingertips were crusted with ice. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Bucky growled. 

“Hi,” Steve said, because for the moment he didn’t have any other words at all. He couldn’t help dragging his gaze down Bucky’s body, taking in the silk shirt that hung just so from his broad shoulders, the way his breeches hugged his thighs, the supple leather of his boots. He always seemed to wear clothing of the finest cut, and this was no exception. The ensemble truly showed his form to great advantage, Steve had to admit. 

“Hello,” Bucky answered, a self-satisfied look on his face. He crossed his arms. “So, how came you to be so far from Brooklyn, Steve?”

“I, um...I was craving some crêpes,” Steve offered, trying his best to school his expression to one of blank innocence. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Damn it, Bucky! I had him on the ropes!”

“You must be joking, angel. You were about to be executed." 

“Yeah, well. I can always come back in another body and finish what I started.” 

“It’s not the same,” Bucky said. “It’s not the same at all. Besides, are you even sure Heaven would grant you a new one? Did they even authorize your presence here? I’ll bet they didn’t, did they?”

“They haven’t sent me any orders since I got to Earth. Because of that Free Will thing.”

In truth, the original instructions which had been presented to Steve during his pre-Earth briefing had strongly suggested that he take on more of a witness role, rather than becoming directly involved in Earthly affairs. 

Bucky sighed. “Why do I have the feeling you’re leaving out a bunch of details?” 

_Because I know that you’re about as stubborn as I am when you want to be_ , Steve thought, but kept his mouth shut. 

“You know you can always ask me for help, right?” Bucky asked. 

He was talking about their Arrangement again. It had served them well over the millennia, and Bucky seemed to put a great deal of weight on its importance. Steve did actually feel a little guilty that he’d tried to get this mission past him. Over the centuries they’d become a real team - most recently during the Revolutionary War, and as part of the abolitionist movement. But that was all within the United States. He knew Bucky would never have agreed to go to France. Besides, it was hard enough to keep Heaven looking the other way without having a grumpy demon in tow.

“Stevie,” Bucky said, putting a heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder and shaking him gently. “Are you listening to me?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, blinking dutifully up at his friend. 

“We’re in this together,” Bucky said. “So stop running off on your own.”

Steve fought the urge to bristle at that. He knew Bucky meant well. He didn’t mean to sound like the angels did, with their pitying looks. After all, Steve wasn’t actually an angel of justice. Not technically. His work was supposed to fall more in the protector category, but to him, at the rate that Earth was going, the two went hand-in-hand.

“Someone has to protect justice,” Steve said. 

“Good grief,” Bucky said. “Will you please listen to yourself?” 

“I stand by what I said.”

“Fine,” Bucky said, a glint in his eye. “So does this mean you’re finally saying it? That you disagree with the Big Plan? Because you know that isn’t much different than what I did in the Beginning, right?”

“It’s completely different,” Steve said automatically, though he was afraid it wasn’t.

“You keep telling yourself that.” Bucky grinned and slung an arm around Steve’s neck. “Come on. Let’s go get you some crêpes. And I need a drink.” 

“Hang on,” Steve said, snapping his fingers so that his grubby post-brawl look corrected itself to a modestly elegant outfit that he hoped was as flattering as Bucky’s own. 

Bucky snorted. “Oh, like Heaven isn’t going to notice a random Steve miracle coming from the middle of Paris.” 

“Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black,” Steve replied, turning to look back over his shoulder at the executioner. 

“I covered my tracks.” 

“So you might as well unfreeze him, then.” 

“Eh,” Bucky shrugged. “He’ll thaw eventually.” 

**Meanwhile in Heaven**

“Fucking Free Will,” Sam said, rubbing his forehead.

“You should write to him,” Riley said from his sprawling position on Sam’s very pristine and very fancy white office couch. He was always reading in his free time, and today was no exception. Today he was reading a fairly new Earthly work, which was alarmingly titled _The Marriage of Heaven and Hell._ He held the book in one hand, balancing a coffee cup on his chest while he munched on one of the pastries he’d brought from the Piece of Paradise Café.

“You’re gonna stain my couch,” Sam said. “That’s what the table by the window is for, you know.”

“Ah, yes, the table by the window in your incredible corner office,” Riley said. “How could I forget the table? Are you going to eat one of these pastries on your own or am I gonna have to force you to take a break again?”

“Don’t need a break,” Sam said. “Don’t need to eat. Don’t need to do anything except finish this pile of work before the next bell rings because if I don’t, I might lose my mind. I might actually lose my mind.”

He’d been picking away at the pile of reports on his desk for ages now, but it seemed that for every three that he reviewed, ten more showed up in their place. Most of them about Steve.

“Write to him, Sam,” Riley said. “That’s the only way the paperwork is going to slow down. I’m pretty sure he has no idea what kind of problems he’s causing you up here, and if he did, he’d probably pull his shit together.”

“Hah,” Sam said. “It’s obvious you’ve never met the guy.”

Riley  put his book down, sighing. “Sam.”

“Riley,” Sam replied, moderately annoyed now. But mostly because he wished he didn’t like being distracted by Riley so much.

Riley drained his coffee and  sat up,  pulling his robe away from his belly  so that all the crumbs from his pastry collected in the dip of fabric. Sam watched  as he carefully shook the fabric out over the trash can,  his brain exploding with all kinds of thoughts. Mostly beginning with  _Riley is so…_ and mostly ending with  _adorable, ridiculous, idiotic, sweet_ . _..damn it, shit, and damn it all over again._

“How is it that the Council hasn’t decided to recall him yet?” Riley asked, turning back toward Sam and readjusting his halo, which had gone crooked when he’d laid down on the couch. “I can’t imagine the other Archangels like dealing with all the Steve reports, either.”

“Yeah-” Sam started, the word catching in his throat. He held Riley’s eyes, coming to the realization that he could actually...tell him. About how the Council had given up on Steve long ago. About how Redwing was programmed to report to Sam's private channel only. About how Steve was friends with a demon who happened to share his same reckless affinity for participating in human affairs. He felt the moment crystallize around him, cold on his skin.

“Sam?” Riley asked, his eyebrows lifting. “You okay?”

Sam pushed back from his desk and closed the office door, turning to lean against it, letting the true measure of his exhaustion show on his face.

“Oh, shit,” Riley said quietly. “Come here.”

Sam basically face-planted against his shoulder, allowing Riley to steer him toward the couch.

“So now I’m actually worried,” Riley said, once they were seated. “What’s going on?”

“It’s classified,” Sam said. “If I tell you, and another Archangel finds out...”

“I accept the risk.”

Sam snorted. “Of course you do.”

“And I won’t betray you.”

“I know you won’t, Riley. You’re missing my point. Nobody on the Council knows this except for me. Nobody.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Look,” Riley said. “I can handle it, whatever it is. It’s obviously wearing on you to carry it around all by yourself. I don’t mind sharing the weight.”

Sam looked over at him, overcome yet again by Riley’s sincerity. Just when he thought he was getting used to it, Riley had to go and up the ante on him. God, it would be such a relief to share the burden of this secret...

** In the time of HYDRA - Kreischberg, Austria, 1943 AD  **

It hadn’t taken Steve long to get involved in World War II. Not that Bucky knew anything about it. Yes, it was going against their Arrangement. Again. Yes, he knew he could have probably convinced Bucky to join him. But it would have taken time, and the world didn’t have enough of that these days. Word was that Johann Schmidt - head of the Nazi SS special weapons division and of HYDRA, the Nazi scientific division – had recruited the scientist Armin Zola for a highly classified project. Steve had heard enough about the two of them to know it could not bode well for Earth if they worked together, so he wasted no time in getting to Europe and infiltrating HYDRA.

It took all of Steve’s willpower not to drop his clipboard at the sight of the man strapped to the table in Armin Zola’s lab. He was under glamour, appearing shorter and skinnier than usual, and clad in an American G.I. uniform, but Steve would recognize Bucky anywhere. Didn’t matter what he looked like.

Steve reached for his shield, safely stowed on his back and hidden away under his own glamour – that of a HYDRA scientist, lab coat and all. He’d even made himself taller and bulkier, the better to blend in with the rest of the personnel at the base. Zola’s back was to the door as he peered up at some instrument readings along the wall. Bucky turned to look, his eyes widening in recognition. He shook his head in a tense, abbreviated movement.

“Are those the reports I requested?” Zola asked, turning toward Steve, who was still hovering uncertainly in the doorway. Bucky let his gaze go blank and resumed staring up at the ceiling. The sight of it made the hair on Steve’s arms stand on end. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to tolerate this situation.

“Yes, sir,” he replied. He exerted a minor miracle to summon the expected files and handed the clipboard over, trying his best not to stare.

Armin Zola was shorter than he had expected. And he carried himself with a sort of quiet gentility that contrasted greatly with the barbaric instruments mounted throughout the lab. But there was no ignoring his eagerness as he flipped through the paperwork. He clearly did this work because he wanted to - not because he had to.

“That will be all,” Zola said, looking up when he realized Steve was still standing there.

Steve couldn’t help it. Just another teensy miracle, and an alarm sounded down the hall.

Zola’s eyes widened. “Guard the soldier,” he commanded, pushing past Steve. “I must see to that.”

Steve was by Bucky’s side the second the coast was clear, pulling on the straps that kept him bound.

“Stop it,” Bucky said. “You’re going to blow my cover.”

“Your what?” Steve asked.

They both tensed at the sound of running steps, but it was only a couple of Zola’s lackeys running past, headed toward the other lab.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Steve said, trying his best not to react too unfavorably to Bucky’s less-than-warm welcome.

“This isn’t my Paris-” Bucky began.

“I never said it was,” Steve interrupted.

“-I don’t need you to rescue me,” Bucky finished.

Steve scoffed. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

“Likely story.” It seemed as if Bucky was trying his best to look annoyed, but he was failing miserably at it.

Steve finally understood what it must have been like for Bucky all the times he’d gone off alone and gotten himself in too deep. Sure, Bucky could handle himself, but it was hard to ignore how vulnerable he looked in his glamour. He even had bruises on his face from the machine that hovered above the table on a spring-loaded metal arm.

“Oh, good grief,” Bucky said, looking past him. Steve turned to see Zola in the doorway, flanked by armed guards. He’d been too distracted to even notice the absence of the ringing alarm, but now the silence pressed in on him.

“Well, well, how very interesting,” Zola said.

Time came to a standstill, nanoseconds momentarily fluttering like moths against Steve’s skin as the mortal sphere froze around them. He turned to look at Bucky and saw him for the first time as he truly was, in all his aspects. More than a wolf-demon of winter. More than a fallen angel condemned to an eternity in Hell. More than his long-suffering friend. He was the one who had been there since the first days that Steve had walked the Earth, and he was the one who would be there until the end.

“I can’t hold it for long,” Bucky said.

Steve took a startled breath at the sound of his voice, feeling as if he’d just woken up from the sweetest dream. His body reverberated with it.

“The soldiers,” Bucky said. “Zola’s been doing experiments on them. I came here to find out why. To find out what they plan to do to them and to stop it.”

“I really didn’t know you were here,” Steve said.

“I know, Stevie.” Bucky smiled ruefully. “And this just might be my Paris, after all. Help me out, will you?”

Steve hesitated, then reached out to undo the straps around Bucky’s wrists and upper arms, moving down to his ankles while Bucky worked on the thick band around his waist.

“We’re gonna get everyone out,” Steve said, implacable as only a vengeful angel can be. “And then we’re gonna burn this place to cinders. And then we’ll destroy the rest of the HYDRA bases. Schmidt and Zola won’t know what hit them.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, his expression equal parts wary and awestruck. He got up from the table, slightly unsteady. Steve went to stand next to him, putting an arm around his waist to stabilize him.

“This is different,” Bucky said, letting his gaze run down Steve’s glamoured body in all its brawny glory. For the moment, they happened to be the same height, and Bucky’s face was close in a way that Steve wasn’t used to.

“Not better,” Bucky continued, meeting Steve’s eyes again. “Just different.”

“Um...” Steve said. He could feel Bucky’s arm pressed tight against his back. His heart burned hot inside his chest, the truth expanding inside of him.

How had he never noticed before?

“You get a head start to the cell block,” Bucky said, his expression growing serious. “It’s just past-”

“I know where it is, Bucky.” Steve turned to face him. There was a time he would have jumped at the chance to be the hero. Back when he felt he had something to prove. Back when there was nothing else to look forward to but the next fight.

“I’ll hold them off as long as I can,” Bucky said. The edges of his glamour were blurring now.

Steve laid a hand on his arm. “Bucæruziuthanes.”

Bucky’s eyes softened. “I’ll catch up, angel,” he said. “I promise. Now go on.”

“No, my dear,” Steve said. “Not without you.”

So they fought together, Steve with fire, Bucky with ice. They freed the Allied soldiers, and those who were able fought with them, too. When Steve and Bucky attempted to slip away during the trek back to Allied territory, intent on their next mission, they were surprised to find that they were being tracked. An elite group of soldiers - rag-tag in appearance but dangerous in ability - had taken it upon themselves to join them. They dubbed themselves the Howling Commandos.

In addition to being responsible for the elimination of dozens of HYDRA bases in Western Europe, the Howling Commandos also succeeded in capturing Armin Zola from an armored train that had been headed for HYDRA headquarters. After that, Steve and Bucky had retreated from the field of war, letting the rest of the Commandos take the spotlight. After all, they had more than earned it with their bravery and skill.

Some weeks later, however, in highly mysterious circumstances, Johann Schmidt disappeared when the over-sized bomber plane he had been piloting went down in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. Nobody on Earth could figure out exactly what had happened. Nobody, that is, except for Earth’s very own ethereal-occult tag team, who knew exactly what had happened because they had been the very reason it had happened in the first place.

It was a few days after V-E Day, and the spring air still carried that hysterical sense of relief, those hard edges of grief and shock. Steve had just returned to his apartment after sharing a picnic lunch with Bucky in Prospect Park. His heart sank as he spotted the glowing piece of Heavenly mail sitting on his desk. He knew who it must be from, because it bore no official seal or summons. The Archangel Samael.

Lately, the guilt had been weighing him down more and more. The closer he got to Bucky, the more he felt it. He and Sam seemed to have mutually agreed to let their friendship ease off since Steve had arrived on Earth, and though he had dutifully answered the few letters he had received since then, he had felt no enthusiasm in it. It was hard to feel enthusiastic about lying point-blank to the only friend you’d ever had, but telling the truth was out of the question. And so that’s how it had gone. Sam must have realized that things weren’t the same at the same time as Steve had, though he hadn’t had the benefit of knowing why.

Perhaps it was time to explain why. He and Bucky had made it this far without raising any alarms in Heaven or Hell. That meant that either the big shots didn’t know, or that someone was watching out for them. Either way, he still owed Sam an official explanation. And an apology.

But first, the letter.

 _Dear Steve,_ it began. Okay, so it was fairly impersonal to start, but Steve was feeling hopeful.

_I know about you and the demon Bucæruziuthanes because I get a report for every single damn thing you do that goes against the grain. I’m sure you must know that. I can’t imagine you’re naïve enough to think that Heaven hasn’t been watching you since the first moment you stepped on Earth. Let me remind you that it is not recommended that any angel participate in the human experience. You’re supposed to be a witness only._

_After all your actions during that war, I am pretty much done with covering your ass up here. Just in this last Earth year, I received upwards of a thousand reports. Per week, Steve. Per week. That’s what it’s been like. So please take a break before I lose my mind._

_Cordially yours,_

_Samael_

_P.S. You should know that I haven’t ever mentioned your alliance with the demon to the Council, and I will continue to maintain that secret on your behalf. I can also guarantee that your secret is being carefully managed in Hell, too, though I am not at liberty to disclose any details regarding that arrangement._

Steve sat at his desk for a long time after that, reading the letter over and over again, until the light began to fade and he had to get up and turn on the lamps.

He hadn’t come to much of a conclusion other than the most obvious one. Sam was clearly angry with him, but not enough to turn him over to the Archangel Council. Then again, it was hard to imagine a world where Sam did something like that. That was something that power-hungry hierarchy climbers did, and Sam just wasn’t that.

It was hard not to obsess over everything Sam hadn’t said. Did he think the work Steve had been doing on Earth was Bad? Good? What did he think of his friendship with Bucky? Was he jealous? Disappointed? Steve wished he’d tried harder to keep in contact. Because right now, the thought that Sam was thinking bad thoughts about him was too much to handle. Clearly, he’d gotten a little too much into the whole Earthly experience and had forgotten where he came from, and who he had left behind.

He resolved right then and there to be more transparent. Which meant he had to come clean to Bucky, too. About how he was supposed to be a witness, rather than a participant. About Sam. And about the potential danger that Sam and some mysterious Hellish agent were putting themselves into just so that he and Bucky could keep on being friends.

Before all of that, though, while everything was fresh on his mind, Steve pulled out his stationary set for the first time in centuries.

_Dear Sam,_

_I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I really had no idea that I was being watched at that level. I never meant to burden you or to cause you any suffering._

~~_You don’t understand_ ~~ _It’s hard not to get carried away here. So much pain and suffering. So much joy and pleasure. And every emotion you can imagine in between. Humans really are such vibrant, insane, chaotic creatures. Maybe that’s why Heaven sent me here. I seem to fit right in._

_ I wish I had tried harder to stay in contact with you. I miss you. I miss your take on things. I wish I could have your opinions now. I wonder what you think of my alliance with Bucky. That’s what I call  Bucæruziuthanes,  by the way. It’s really more of a friendship.  Or maybe even more than that, but I’m not sure yet. That might be human influence wearing off on me.  _

_ Anyway,  I think you’d like him. If you could get over the fact that he’s a demon. He’s really pretty harmless, considering. Maybe you’d be fine with  him, because it seems like you, too, must have  developed  some kind of connection with a demon. I hope it’s a good connection, and not just for convenience’s sake. I hope this demon of yours is as good a friend as Bucky has been to me. _

_I’m going to stop getting involved with Earthly affairs now, Sam. I promise you. You won’t hear a peep out of me. It’ll be as if I disappeared along with the crazy bastard that we sank into the Arctic Ocean at the end of the world war that we just had down here._

_I’m going to come clean to Bucky about everything, too. And he’ll agree with you more than he’s ever agreed with me on anything. That’s why I think you’d like him. He has been trying to get me to cool my heels since the Garden._

_Anyway, write back if you want._

_Yours truly,_

_Steve_


	3. Horrible Premonitions

**Approximately seventy years later – Brooklyn, NYC**

Bucky woke abruptly, his legs tangled in sheets, the barest taste still on his tongue of-

_Steve._

Good grief, he really had to get himself under control. It probably wasn’t a good idea to dream about Steve like that, when they were already risking so much just by being friends. Besides, how could anyone taste like _gold_? It was ridiculous. He was getting maudlin in his old age.

“Hey there, wolfie,” a voice said, and Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin. He snapped his fingers and summoned some pajamas, turning to glare at the red-haired demon who lazed purposefully on the black throne – _throne?!_ \- that now sat in the middle of his bedroom. It was crawling with spiders.

“Knock first next time,” he said.

“Since when has lack of privacy bothered you?”

There was no privacy to be had in Hell. None at all.

Bucky just ignored her, reaching out to check his mobile.

The  demon stood and stretched. “Take me to  experience this  brunch  thing all the demons are talking about.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to brunch, Natasrit.”

“We’re going to brunch, Bærnz,” she said, her throne dissolving back into the floor behind her. “Get dressed.”

Bucky should have known. When they got to the café in Flatbush, a booth was already set aside for them, two gargantuan mimosas towering in sparkling decadence on the table.

Natasrit took a long drink and sighed in contentment.

“Wow. Now _that’s_ a drink. Did you know they only let us have Bloody Marys down there now?”

“Brunch usually involves eating food, as well,” Bucky said.

Natasrit scrunched up her nose. “ Ew .”

“Says the demon who insisted on going to brunch.”

Natasrit shrugged, and the conversation melted down into awkward silence.

“So-” Natasrit began.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Bucky asked at the same time.

“What?”

“You’ve been protecting us. Steve and I.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Natasrit said, but there was a glimmer in her eye.

“Who else would it be?” Bucky asked. “All the other demons hate me.”

Natasrit snorted. “They don’t _hate-you_ hate you. You’d know if they really hated you.”

“I suppose,” Bucky said, settling back.

Natasrit looked like she was considering something, but this time her face was truly unreadable.

“You got the job,” she said finally.

Bucky blinked, dread pooling in his stomach. There was a memory, from long ago. An interview. Dreadfully awkward. And then he remembered the rest. Oh, no.

“Me? Why would they pick me?”

“Poetic justice?” Natasrit suggested, smirking.

“I thought they canceled the position when the Free Will thing went into effect,” Bucky said, with growing desperation.

“The Free Will thing was an experiment,” she replied. “It’s time to end it.”

“That was the Big Plan?” Bucky asked. “Let everyone in the universe run amuck for a couple of millennia and then blow it all up?”

“According to my sources, that’s basically what it boils down to.”

“Good grief,” Bucky said. “And Hell agreed to that?”

“Anything to start a war again.”

“And you? Is that what you want?”

Natasrit met his gaze levelly. “I’m the Left Hand of Hell now. Besides, don’t you remember what happened to the conscientious objectors last time? Now imagine what Hell would do.” She held out her hand. “Congratulations, Bærnz. Welcome to the big leagues.” 

Bucky hesitated, considering his options.

“You have no options if you don’t accept,” Natasrit said, doing that annoying thing where she guessed his thoughts. “If you accept, however-” she leaned in closer “-then you might be able to work something out that’s more to your liking.”

Bucky stared into her eyes, but they were absolutely guileless. He thought about how she occupied a much more elevated position in Hell than she once had, which could mean any number of things. Most of all, though, he thought about how she was and would probably always be just Natasrit to him. Not the Archivist. Not the Left Hand of Hell. Just Natasrit.

He had to make his decision on that basis. Anything else was too overwhelming to contemplate .  So he sighed and took her hand, wincing as the energy burned through him – the heat signature that now marked him irrevocably as Hell’s greatest Asset: the Antichrist.

Too many mimosas later, Bucky was making his unsteady way off the subway at Eastern Parkway. Natasrit had already gone back to Hell. And really, it was probably for the best, given what Bucky had to do next.

He pawed in his jeans pockets for his mobile, his soggy brain rewarding him with a vision of said device resting uselessly on his nightstand at home. He could summon it but – eh – there was a pay phone right there…

He slapped the box a bit too hard and the coin return slot popped open, raining a shower of quarters at his feet. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on making the connection.

“Hello?” Steve sounded breathless over the line. It was sexy. Bucky groaned and pressed a palm to his forehead.

“Not right now, brain.”

“Bucky?” Steve asked, sounding highly amused.

“Who the Heaven is Bucky?” Bucky demanded, then the name slotted back into place. “Oh yes, of course. It’s Bucky.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “Listen. There’s something I have to tell you.”

“What is it?” It sounded like Steve still seemed to think this was all so very funny.

“I...um...so...long before we met, I applied for a job.”

“Go on,” Steve said, his voice now overlaid with distinctly suspicious tones.

“Then I forgot about it.”

“Okay.”

Steve was being very, very patient. It was a rare and terrifying thing.

“So, I got the job after all,” Bucky said. “I’m sorry, angel. I really am.”

There was a long pause. The phone line hummed callously in his ear.

“I think you’d better come over, dear,” Steve said. “And you’d best sober up before you do.”

Bucky stared up at the façade of S.G. Rogers and Co.  It was mostly  covered by the mural that he had helped Steve paint in bright splashes of color when the shop had first opened. It was supposed to be an art supply shop, except for the fact that Steve didn’t really run it like a business.  Most of the time he ran customers out of the shop, unless of course they were that particular type of person who gazed longingly at the tools of their creative trade with that surreptitious look of calculation on their face. Those Steve sent packing, quite literally. He handed them two  giant canvas bags with the store logo printed on them and told them to take  anything and  everything they needed. It amused Bucky to no end.

Now, though, this was the last place he wanted to be. Before he could  walk away , the door flew open. Steve  stepped out onto the stoop,  a  wary look in his eyes.  There was  a smear of green paint on one cheekbone, a spot of  cerulean in his hair, and a rainbow of colors in varied states of dryness on the long flannel shirt he wore as a smock.

That used to be Bucky’s shirt, actually. Bucky stared at it wistfully. It could be  that he hadn’t quite sobered up enough.

“You look awful,” Steve said.

Bucky gazed up at him. “You don’t.”

Steve snorted. “Come in, you ridiculous demon.”

Bucky wanted to gather Steve into his arms and never let go.

He definitely hadn’t sobered up enough.

The shop was a cheerful place, walls painted  bright  white, lots of windows to let in the natural light. Bucky liked it there. He made his way to the  back room and settled onto the overstuffed couch that Steve had jammed into  the corner.

“Tell me,” Steve said, sitting down next to him. “Everything.”

And so Bucky did.

When he was finished, Steve didn’t say anything for a long time, looking down at his hands, picking at bits of dried paint on his knuckles. Just as Bucky was about to beg him to say something, anything, Steve looked up at him intently.

“Do you trust her?” He meant Natasrit.

“Yes,” Bucky said. “I think.” He sighed. “We have a lot of history, and I’m pretty sure she’s the Hellish agent who has been watching my back all this time.”

“Is that a guess? Or are you absolutely certain?”

“Maybe?” Bucky replied, starting to feel a bit frazzled. “I haven’t seen her in centuries. And she’s the Left Hand now.”

“You really think she was trying to help you, then?” Steve asked. “Because it sounds to me like she just manipulated you into saying yes.”

Bucky took a startled breath, trying not to panic. “You don’t know her like I do.”

“Sorry,” Steve said. “I...I didn’t mean to go there. I mean, I just-”

“I can’t,” Bucky said, his entire body tensing with fear. “I can’t...with that...right now.”

“I’m so sorry, dear. I’ll shut up.”

Bucky curled in on himself, trying to focus on his breath. “Just...need a minute.”

“Okay.” Steve got to his feet. He was clearly struggling not to panic himself. “I’ll go and work on my painting for a bit, all right?”

Bucky nodded.

“You come find me when you’re ready,” Steve said.

It took Bucky a fairly long time to calm down. By the time he stood up from the couch, the light had faded to an early evening dusk. He peeked around the curtain that blocked the view of the rest of the shop. Steve had already closed up. (If he’d even bothered to open at all today. Bucky hadn’t noticed.) All the lights were off except for in his work area. Bucky had been too absorbed in the problem at hand to pay any attention to Steve’s work-in-progress when he’d first walked in. Now, though, it drew his attention immediately. It was a portrait of the two of them, during one of their picnics in Prospect Park.

He remembered that particular day so well. He’d been leaning back on his elbows, teasing Steve relentlessly about something – that part didn’t matter, really – and out of nowhere Steve had just collapsed against him, laying his head on Bucky’s stomach, derailing the conversation completely. Bucky had reached over to run his fingers through Steve’s hair. And Steve had smiled up at him, golden in the sunlight.

“That’s beautiful, Stevie,” Bucky said, walking across the shop floor toward him.

“Run away with me,” Steve said, so low that Bucky almost didn’t catch it.

Irrationally (or perhaps not so irrationally) tears sprang to the corners of Bucky’s eyes.  In the long silence, Steve dropped his paintbrush into the murky jar of water by his side and turned to face him.

“They’d find me anywhere, angel,” Bucky said. He saw Steve’s shoulders stiffen, though it was the barest hint of movement.

“Then we’ll fight,” Steve said. “Sam will help us. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s not that simple. Sam’s the freakin’ Right Hand of Heaven. He can’t just go against the grain like you do, Steve.”

“I’ll fight for you till the end, Bucky.” 

Bucky was pretty sure he hadn’t ever  actually paid much attention to his heart before this moment. Now it  felt like it was breaking.

Steve stepped closer. He reached up, halfway to Bucky’s face, then hesitated. “This all right, my dear?”

Bucky took Steve’s hand  gently  and pressed it to his cheek.

“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line,” Steve murmured, running a thumb over Bucky’s mouth.

"Me, too," Bucky said, his voice rough. He was close enough now to see the flecks of gold in Steve’s eyes. He slid his arms around Steve’s waist, pulling him in, and then Steve was cradling his face in both hands, drawing him down, closing the last bit of distance between them.

_So this is what it feels like to kiss an angel,_ Bucky thought, his head spinning.

__

The craziest thing was, Steve really _did_ taste like gold.

__

__

**One month before the end of the world**

__

The Antichrist. He who was the Lord of Chaos. He who had no name, and yet all names belonged to him. He walked in perpetual twilight, ice crunching beneath his boots.

__

There was blood in his mouth. Angel blood.

__

He tasted it and knew he would never cease to crave it.

__

Power surged through him, pouring out of his left hand, a relentless barrage of glacial fury. The universe cowered before him, in fragile layers of frozen reality.

__

He was unstoppable. He could shape this stupid little world, this pathetic excuse for a universe, however he saw fit. It all belonged to him now.

__

__

Bucky woke to the bedside lamp shining in his eyes, the nightmare still echoing inside of him. Steve - the angel who claimed not to need sleep - was passed out next to him, snoring softly, the book he’d been reading lying face down on his chest. Bucky rolled onto his side and nuzzled closer, burying his face in Steve’s neck. The book slid out of the way as he wrapped his right arm around Steve’s waist, careful to keep his left cradled against his own chest.

__

Steve ran hot, as was fitting for an angel who wielded fire, and Bucky basked in that warmth, letting it chase away the chill of the nightmare. He breathed in his familiar scent - orange blossoms, fresh and bright like the ones that used to grow in the Garden, and the bittersweet ash of transformation. Steve stirred, and a warm hand pressed against Bucky’s arm.

__

“Hey, I was reading that.” He still sounded very much asleep.

__

Bucky snorted. “Okay, honey.” He lifted his head, taking in the sight of the sleepy frown that creased Steve’s brow. It was devastatingly adorable.

__

Steve opened his eyes. “I was.” He cast about for a minute, confused, until he found the book half-buried in the blankets next to him. “You made me lose my place.”

__

“Sorry,” Bucky said, trying not to smile.

__

“You’re not sorry at all,” Steve said, giving him a reproachful look.

__

“It was page 137.”

__

“Hmmm. Is that a guess?”

__

“Maybe.”

__

Steve made a show of carefully moving the book to the bedside table.

__

“Why are you holding your left hand like that?” he asked, and Bucky realized it was going to be one of those mornings. The ones where he’d be hard-pressed to get anything past Steve at all. He’d always been attentive, but had become particularly observant ever since the whole Antichrist thing happened.

__

“No reason,” Bucky said, but it was hard to sound casual with the echoes of that horrible dream still ringing inside of him.

__

Steve reached out to take Bucky’s left hand in both of his own, gently tracing the crystalline lines on his palm.

__

“You know it doesn’t hurt me,” he said. “The cold. It really just feels cool to the touch.” He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s knuckles. “I like it.”

__

There didn’t need to be words after that, Bucky decided. He drew Steve into his arms, kissing him full on the mouth. This is how he would forget the nightmare. This is how he would remind himself of who he really was. Brilliant, his angel was, even when he didn’t know how badly it was needed.

__

__

Some time later, as they basked together in bed, Steve blinked over at the window.

__

“What time is it?”

__

“Why?” Bucky asked, tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “You have somewhere to be?”

__

“I promised this kid they could have a look at the Copic markers today after school,” Steve said, sliding out from under the covers and fetching his bathrobe from the hook by the door. “Where did my watch go?”

__

“Just look at my phone,” Bucky said.

__

“Humph,” Steve said, but checked the time that way, anyway. “Oh, it’s early still.” He yawned and stretched. “Want me to make some coffee, my dear?”

__

Steve knew him too well.

__

“Yes, please,” Bucky said, rolling himself up in the sheets and casting an enamored look up at him.

__

“All right, calm down,” Steve laughed, disappearing into the hall.

__

He returned a few minutes later with two mugs in hand.

__

“When did you get a new laptop?”

__

Bucky sat up. “What?”

__

“The laptop,” Steve said, then his brow furrowed. “On the coffee table.”

__

Bucky stalked off toward the living room, the coffee forgotten. Sure enough, a sleek, black laptop lay on the coffee table. A red light faded on and off at an ominously slow frequency on its lid. He knew his new position was supposed to be a remote gig, and that there would be some training involved. But no one had mentioned equipment. He reached out to touch it, snatching his hand back as a flash of heat slithered up his fingers and into his body. That had been a very bad idea.

__

“That’s not yours?” Steve asked, suspicious.

__

“No,” Bucky said. _Angel blood_ , a voice whispered in his head.

__

“Whose is it, then?”

__

Bucky tried to tell him. His throat closed up against the words. Steve’s face was growing concerned. Bucky cast for something to say, anything.

__

“It’s, uh, my neighbor’s,” he blurted out. Good grief, what a stupid lie. But the invading voice hadn’t censored it, at least. And an annoyed Steve was a safe Steve.

__

“He just gave you his laptop?” Steve asked. “Doesn’t he need it?”

__

“I was supposed to return it yesterday.” Something sharp wiggled inside of Bucky, stabbing savagely at his heart. _Angel blood_ , it whispered. It took all of his self-control not to clutch at his chest.

__

“I don’t remember seeing it on your coffee table last night,” Steve said pointedly.

__

“I got it out while you were asleep,” Bucky said, a slow shriek picking up in his ears. _Angel blood,_ it insisted.

__

This was the stupidest lie he had ever told in his long life, and that was saying something.

__

“You did,” Steve said, his voice completely flat.

__

“Yes.” The voice screamed inside Bucky now. A hunger was building up in his gut that he’d never known before. A hunger that he knew would never be satisfied.

__

“Except I wasn’t asleep,” Steve said. “I was just resting my eyes. You were in bed with me the whole time.”

__

_Ridiculous,_ Bucky thought fondly. _Just resting my eyes._ But the voice would have none of it. It tore at his heart, trying to get at what was locked inside. He tried to open his mouth. _Run_ , he wanted to say. _Help_ , he tried to say. _Get my phone; call Natasrit._ His body wouldn’t do it.

__

“You were snoring,” Bucky said, instead. The voice chanted through him in an unbroken litany. _Angel blood. Angel blood. Angel blood._

__

“Fine,” Steve said. “Maybe I dozed off for a minute, but I think I would have woken up if you left.”

__

“What does it matter?” Bucky asked, as the voice gnawed at him, desperate with hunger.

__

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Because I can tell there’s something else going on here.”

__

“Well, you’re wrong,” Bucky said, intentionally callous. “You’re being paranoid. It’s just a blessed laptop, okay?”

__

“Says the demon who agreed to become the Antichrist,” Steve snapped back.

__

Before Bucky could react, the laptop opened with a snick, unfolding like an evil butterfly on the coffee table. It began to play something that sounded suspiciously like old-school black metal.

__

Standing there while the music shredded the air around him, while something inside of him demanded that he destroy the being that trusted him completely: that was a new kind of Hell Bucky hoped he would never have to experience again.

__

“You’re lying to me,” Steve said, low and quiet.

__

“No, I’m not,” Bucky said. “I swear to you. It’s the neighbor’s laptop.” _An angry Steve is a safe Steve_ , he reminded himself as the wolf in his heart howled in pain to see Steve looking at him like that.

__

Steve tore off his bathrobe and threw it at Bucky’s face, then turned on his heel and marched back to the bedroom. The invading voice howled with rage, and Bucky staggered back to collapse on the couch, slamming the laptop shut on his way there. Of course, because it was a creepy laptop from Hell, the music kept playing.

__

Steve paused on his way back through the living room. He’d only bothered to put on his jeans. His boots were still untied. The rest of his clothes were balled up under one arm. He tilted his chin up, fixing Bucky with a glare.

__

“I’m going. Let me know when you decide to stop lying to me.”

__

Bucky couldn’t even talk anymore, the words swelling and getting stuck in his throat as he fought the storm inside of him. Steve gave him a hurt look then yanked open the front door, closing it behind him with a slam.

__


	4. Excellent Tidings

“Well, that was dramatic.” It was Natasrit’s voice, floating over to Bucky in disembodied form as he lay helpless on the couch. A moment later, she appeared in the middle of the living room. The evil laptop from Hell was still emitting that black metal music, and apparently it only had the one song on it, because it had just restarted.

Bucky glared at her. “Hel-”

“That’s right,” she said. “I’m supposed to escort you and your laptop of doom to Hell now. It’s too bad your angel friend couldn’t come with us.”

“No,” Bucky growled.

“Stop. You’re the god-blessed Antichrist now.”

“P,” Bucky said, gasping. “Hell-p. Help. Not...Hell. Not...go…ing. Would… ra…ther… dis…cor… por…ate.”

Natasrit’s expression flickered. They stared at each other for a long moment. Bucky could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking, loud in the silence.

“There’s a high probability that you can learn to control this,” she said.

Bucky shook his head, sweat running down his face as the voice clawed its way around inside of him.

“Rath...er….....stay…....my...self,” he said. The voice was prying his heart open, slowly but surely. It wanted to eat everything that he cherished.

In an oddly abbreviated movement, Natasrit reached out toward the laptop. She met Bucky’s eyes.

“Are you sure?”

Bucky nodded, just the slightest twitch of his chin.

Natasrit concentrated, and a bolt of electricity ran out of her hand, surrounding the laptop. It emitted a puff of smoke and the black metal song melted off into silence. Bucky felt the voice inside evaporate, his body freed of its influence. He collapsed sideways on the couch, gasping for air, bile rising to the back of his throat. The laptop was burning now, filling the apartment with big plumes of smoke. The smoke alarm went off.

“I only start fires,” Natasrit said, over the shrill beeping.

“Ungh,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes toward the kitchen. “Extinguisher. Under sink.”

Natasrit give him a withering look.

“Can’t… move….” Bucky said, struggling against the wave of unconsciousness that was threatening to overtake him.

She hesitated a moment longer, looking immensely irritated, then strode off to retrieve the fire extinguisher.

“Fucking Earth,” Natasrit muttered, as she broke a nail digging through the chaotic mess underneath Bærnz’s kitchen sink. Of course the fire extinguisher was all the way in the back corner. She savagely kicked the cabinet door shut and accidentally put her boot through it.

“Fucking Bærnz!” she said, because this was clearly all his fault. She yanked her boot from its plywood trap and marched back into the living room. That obnoxious alarm was still screaming shrilly, so she flung it away into another dimension with a flick of her hand and focused on the extinguisher. She squinted down at the instructions on the side, almost giving in to the urge to use the canister to beat the laptop to pieces, instead. But it had already caught a portion of the coffee table on fire. And this wasn’t Hell. Fire wasn’t supposed to be the main landscape feature.

When the fire was finally out, coffee table covered in fine white powder, Natasrit turned to contemplate Bærnz. He was still deeply asleep, his face pale and drawn, a crease between his eyebrows. She remembered how innocent they had been when they first met in Heaven. How fiercely they had protected each other during the War. How they had Fallen together.

She remembered her last extended stay on Earth - in Apulum at the end of the second century. She had been trapped by a demon hunter who actually knew what he was doing. Bærnz had freed her. He had sheltered her in his little Earth dwelling, spoon-feeding her gruel made of insects and barley until she was able to function under her own power again.

She hadn’t much liked coming to the mortal sphere since then. But Bærnz was here. And he needed her help now. And, in her estimation at least, there weren’t any other demons quite like him. It seemed she had only ever had one choice, really, and she’d already made it.

Natasrit walked into Bærnz’s bedroom, frowning when she spotted his jeans in a haphazard pile of clothing by the bed. Bærnz was normally as fastidious a human as he was a demon. She kicked through the pile with the toe of her boot, idly contemplating the circumstances which had warranted such cavalier treatment of fine clothing. His wallet wasn’t there.

She sighed and surveyed the room. She didn’t actually need money, but it was exhausting enough being on this plane for extended periods without having to manifest everything that the body required. Her stomach was growling already, though she was certain she hadn’t even been here for an hour of human time yet. What a nuisance.

On the bedside table was a smart phone. Keys. And a rectangular piece of plastic with numbers on it. Bærnz’s human name was printed along the bottom. James Buchanan Barnes. What a name. She wondered what on Earth had possessed him to choose two names, much less three.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket.

“Sam,” she answered, relief melting across her shoulders. “These little plastic cards with numbers. That’s the new money, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, laughing. “Or, well. You better hope there’s money on there. What did you do, steal someone’s purse?”

Natasrit snorted. “Why would I ever do such a thing? It’s Bærnz’s. I need to purchase him some emergency sustenance.”

“Yeah, that’s why I called,” Sam said. “Steve just called me, completely distraught. What’s going on?”

“Bærnz went full Antichrist.”

“Oh, shit. Okay. So it’s officially starting, huh?”

“I terminated the possession before it could come to completion,” Natasrit said, biting her lip.

There was a long silence, and she heard Sam huff out a breath.

“Okay…so we’re really doing this, huh?”

“I’m,” Natasrit said. “I...he looked so devastated. To lose Steve.”

“Did you seriously just cancel the Apocalypse because your demon friend - who, might I add, consented to the job - went sad wolf over an angel?”

“It was dubious consent at best,” Natasrit snapped. “And I thought Steve was your friend.”

“He is. But we’re really pushing things here. Do you realize what could happen if both the Right Hand of Heaven and the Left Hand of Hell are caught collaborating and going directly against the Big Plan? It could have universal consequences.”

“Okay, then. So you’re prepared to deal with Steve when he realizes that he’ll never see Bærnz again? Because that could have universal consequences, as well. Of a possibly even higher magnitude.”

There was a pause, during which she thought she could hear Sam grousing to someone off in the distance. Interesting. Very interesting. She imagined him holding his telephone receiver at arm’s length, an annoyed look on his face. She would have to remember to explain the value and importance of the mute button to him at some point.

“Goddamnit,” Sam said, loud in her ear again. “What do you need me to do?”

“Keep any reports regarding the Apocalypse to yourself, if you can,” Natasrit said. “We’ve got to hold off deploying both armies as long as possible.”

“All right. But you do know the Four Horsepeople are out already, right? As soon as Bærnz took the job, they got the message to report for duty.”

“Shit.” Natasrit closed her eyes. “I forgot.” She massaged her forehead. Being on Earth really was affecting her more than she cared to admit. “Bærnz has been seriously compromised. I...” She was shocked to feel a lump in her throat, her heart aching in her chest. Traitorous human form! She cleared her throat. “I need time to rehabilitate him.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “I got you. You just do your thing, and I’ll handle the rest, okay?”

“You and Riley, you mean,” Natasrit said.

The silence drew out over the line. Then Sam sighed.

“Yeah.”

“He knows everything?”

“Um...yeah,” Sam said, his voice growing a bit anxious. “Look, in my defense, I was going crazy trying to keep everything to myself.”

“It’s okay,” Natasrit said. “I’m glad that you have someone to lean on, too.”

“...thanks.”

“And,” she added. “He’s one of the wiliest bastards I know – even for an angel – so that makes him useful.”

Sam laughed. “True. On both counts. Let us know if you need anything else, okay?”

“I will,” Natasrit said, smiling as she ended the call.

The man at the meat counter at the grocery store looked mildly affronted when Natasrit impatiently ordered all of the hearts and livers they had on hand. But then again, she didn’t have the energy to be coy about it. Apparently, the humans in this part of the world were averse to eating insects, so she grabbed some miscellaneous boxes of protein bars for her own use and left as soon as she could. There was nothing she wanted more than to be finished with this terrible shopping ordeal.

Back at the apartment - which it was to be noted, smelled like Hell now - she stuffed a protein bar into her mouth and dug around the cabinets until she unearthed something called a Magic Bullet. The base had wicked little blades sticking out of it. Perfect.

A long and frustrating half-hour later, Natasrit knelt on the floor by Bærnz’s head, the Magic Bullet cup in hand. Its contents smelled terrible, but then again, Bærnz was a different sort of carnivore than she was. Carefully, she tilted the cup under his nose, smiling when his nostrils flared. He opened his eyes.

“Hey, wolfie,” she said. “Drink this.”

The Magic Bullet died after its twenty-fifth round of blending hearts and livers. Natasrit kept it going via demonic intervention. A trip to the grocery store was one thing. She was not about to venture out into the wider world of shopping.

“We can order a new blender online and it’ll be delivered tomorrow,” Bærnz said, when he caught her leaning against the counter, catching her breath. He still looked terrible, his face drawn, that perpetual line between his eyebrows, that lost look in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she said. It made no logical sense that such a minor energetic output would exhaust her. She knew it was that blessed feeling of dread. The sensation grew heavier the longer she stayed on the mortal sphere.

“The world is different now, Nat,” Bærnz said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She really was losing her edge if he could read her that easily.

“There’s still demon hunters,” Natasrit said. “I always check their status before I come up. There’s been an uptick in the last few years.”

Bærnz surprised her by pulling her into his arms. It had been a long time since they’d been this close. He’d changed, she noted. He smelled different. Felt softer, somehow.

“Sweet little spider,” he said, and she dug her nails into his chest. “Dangerous terrifying spider,” he amended. “The demon hunters can’t do anything to you, anymore.”

“How do you know?” she asked, surprised to find that she was hugging him back.

“You remember when they revoked my Earth clearance for five centuries for no reason at all?”

“Yes,” Natasrit said, leaning back to look at him, suspicious.

“It was because I blew half of Hell’s generators running a demonic intervention. Erased all earthly knowledge of the infamous spider-demons and their queen. Demon hunters can’t hunt something they don’t even know exists.”

“Great Blasphemer,” Natasrit said, pushing him away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” he said, looking apologetic. “It was bound knowledge, apparently. I didn’t even remember doing it until just now. That whole incident with the laptop must have shaken it loose.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, Bærnz looking weaker and weaker with every second he stayed on his feet.

“Go lie down,” Natasrit said. “Before you fall over.”

“I’m going to order you a new blender,” Bærnz said. “I can do it while lying in bed,” he added, when Natasrit opened her mouth to argue.

“You really like him that much?” she asked, a few days later.

She’d caughtBærnz staring at his phone, a dejected look on his face. His expression went mulish for a second, like he might not actually answer. Then he handed the phone to her. It was a photo of the angel and him, faces smashed together cheek-to-cheek. They were both smiling with joyous abandon, looking a little too much like humans, an array of colored lights in the background.

“Coney Island,” he said. “We kissed at the top of the Wonder Wheel.”

“How cliché.”

“I know,” Bærnz said, a wistful look on his face.

“This doesn’t provoke the Antichrist programming?” she asked. “To look upon his image? Because I can’t be sure it’s completely left you. I’ll have to do some tests when you’re feeling stronger.”

“His smell is everywhere,” Bærnz said. “It only makes me miss him. Nothing else.”

Then later:

“Do you ever get lonely?” Bærnz asked her.

Natasrit looked up from her laptop, her vision blurring. She rubbed her eyes, unable to piece together what he was asking.

“What?”

“Without...a companion of some kind,” Bærnz said. “Or, maybe I’m presuming too much. Do you have a companion?”

Natasrit blinked over at him, amused. “A...companion?”

“Hey, I know for a fact there’s quite a few demons who indulge.”

It was true. It was Natasrit’s job to know everything there was to know about Hell. But somehow, the idea had never appealed to her. Besides, she had Sam and Riley. Not to mention the other angels in her recovery group. And Bærnz, too.

Sure, they’d lost touch for a span of time, but she knew that when it came down to it, Bærnz would always be there when she needed him. As she would be for him. It had almost been necessary to forget that in order to succeed as the Left Hand…but all that was over now. And if she cared to be completely honest with herself, she was glad.

“I have you,” she said. “And Sam. And a few others. I feel more content and fulfilled than I ever imagined I could as a Fallen angel.”

“You’ll have Steve, too,” Bærnz said tranquilly. “I have a sneaking suspicion that the two of you will get on like a house on fire.”

Natasrit couldn’t help glancing down at the burned-out coffee table.

“Be careful what you wish for,” she said.

Then later:

“Did you really mean it?” Bærnz asked.

They were lying next to each other on the bed, on top of the covers, sharing a pair of what Bærnz had called ear buds. He’d wanted to show her some music that was from right here in Brooklyn.

“What?” Natasrit asked, shaken out of her reverie. Music was a powerful force, indeed.

Bærnz took a gulp of his latest disgusting smoothie, then turned to look over at her, propping himself up on one elbow.

“When you suggested that if I accepted the position, I could actually do something to change things.” He looked down, tracing the stitches on his fluffy comforter. “Or was that emotional manipulation?”

Natasrit stared up at the ceiling. There was an old strand of spider’s web hanging up there, waving gently in the air currents.

“I am the Left Hand of Hell,” she said. “It was my mission to ensure your compliance.”

Bærnz flopped back down onto the bed, pulling the ear bud from his ear. “Oh.”

“I thought that if anyone was strong enough to mold the programming to his own will, it would have been you.”

“But I couldn’t,” Bærnz said, sounding a bit ashamed.

“It’s okay.” She fumbled for his hand. “You’re still the strongest being I know.”

He squeezed her fingers gently in his own cold ones.

“And I have a different mission now,” she added, turning her head to look over at Bærnz.

“Thank you, Nat,” he said, an oddly pained expression on his face. She swore she could see tears in the corners of his eyes.

“That bastard of an angel better be worth it,” she added, pleased to see the smile that dawned on Bærnz’s face at that acerbic proclamation.

She might have lost some of her touch from this extended exposure to Earth, but by Satan, she still had it where it counted the most.


	5. Occult and Ethereal

** Two  Weeks before the End of the World **

Steve would have liked to say he was walking down St. Johns Place for a reason, but really he had just been moping aimlessly through the neighborhood when Bucky roared up on his motorcycle, his hair tousled, leather jacket hanging open. Steve hated how it made him feel to see him. Angry. Confused. Enamored. Hurt. He hadn’t even recovered yet from whatever it was that had happened between them. It had been the worst two weeks of his life.

“Steve,” Bucky said. He looked savage in his desperation. “I tried calling first, but you didn’t answer. I had to see you, angel.”

A man walked past and gave Bucky an appraising look.

“I’d have a hard time leaving him, too,” he said, looking at Steve. “But it’s worth it in the long run. You have to put yourself first, honey.”

Steve nodded absently,  his eyes locked on Bucky.

“It’s begun,” Bucky said, when the man had walked out of earshot. “I swear on...” he lowered his voice. “...on my wolf’s heart. I had to lie. To keep you safe.”

For some reason, that made Steve all the more angry. He stepped into the street,  his fingers  tangling  in Bucky’s  t- shirt.

“That makes no sense,” he said, glaring up into Bucky’s eyes.

“I know.”

“You should have told me.”

“I tried.”

“You should have never taken the job, you idiot.” Steve tugged on Bucky’s shirt to punctuate each word, months of built-up anger pouring out of him.

“I know,” Bucky said.

They stared at each other. Bucky looked like he’d had a rough couple of weeks himself, dark bruises under his eyes, the angles of his face sharper than usual. As a matter of fact, he was the very picture of abject misery. Steve sighed. Clearly, Bucky already felt terrible enough. He didn’t need to rub salt in the wound. He smoothed out the wrinkled fabric of the t-shirt.

“You’re not an idiot.”

Bucky looked surprised at that.

“What happened?” Steve asked. “Can you talk about it now?”

Bucky dismounted from his motorcycle and reached over to kill the motor. He took a deep breath, leaning back against the machine.

“The Antichrist programming,” he said. “It got inside of me when I touched the laptop. It wanted me to devour you. Not in a good way.”

Steve blinked, his heart dropping into his stomach.

“That’s why I lied,” Bucky continued. “It wouldn’t let me tell you the truth. So I tried my best to chase you away before I lost control.”

“Oh.” Steve felt even worse now for having been so harsh.

“Natasrit saved me,” Bucky finished, his voice strained. “Broke the circuit. I’ve been...recovering since then. We had to make sure the programming was gone. Before I could see you.”

Steve could feel the tears crowding against the back of his eyes, his anger building up again. It had been misdirected when he’d used it against Bucky. He’d let himself be cruel, because it was easier than admitting he was afraid. Why was the world full of so much suffering and destruction? Why did there have to be an Antichrist? And why did it have to be Bucky?

He stepped closer, and Bucky straightened up, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Steve said, collapsing into Bucky’s arms and burying his face against his chest, hugging him as tightly as he could. “I thought you were falling out of my reach and it scared me.”

“It’s okay, Stevie,” Bucky said, squeezing him back. "It’s been a bizarre experience all around.”

Steve lifted his head and kissed him, and it felt like the sun was rising again, chasing away the murk and shadows that had been dogging his steps for days.

“Fuck,” Bucky said, when they pulled apart to look at each other, his expression a bit apprehensive. “I’m madly in love with you, Steve.”

Steve sucked in a breath, his heart taking flight in his chest. “I know, honey.”

Bucky looked even more alarmed. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Do nothing, please,” Steve said, his throat aching. “Because I love you, too. And you’ll always have me, Bucky. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, but Steve saw the immense look of relief in his eyes.

“You know how stubborn I am,” Steve said, taking Bucky’s hands in both of his own. “You think I was going to give up on you just like that? I once fought a divinely-conjured thunderstorm, you know.”

Bucky smiled, then rolled his eyes. “How could I forget?”

“Are you two finished with your histrionics yet?” a voice asked, startling Steve. “Because we have a lot to do and not enough time to do it.”

Steve  rested his forehead against Bucky’s chest for a moment before  turning to face the very rude being who had no respect for an intimate moment.

“You must be Natasrit,” he said to the red-haired demon who was approaching them, clad head-to-toe in black, of course, with vulture’s wings that extended past her shoulders and spiders in her hair. He was surprised to feel a flash of admiration at the sight of her.

“And you must be the angel I’ve heard all about,” Natasrit said, and Steve swore he could hear a hint of grudging admiration in her voice, too.

“Hah,” Bucky said. “I knew you two would get along.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve said. “She’s a demon and I’m an angel. We’re hereditary enemies.”

“What does that say about me?” Bucky asked, looking grouchy now. “Am I not demon enough for you anymore?”

“Don’t be envious, my dear. It’s a mortal sin.” Steve winked at Natasrit.

She smirked back.

“Bless it all to Heaven,” Bucky said, shaking his head.

**The day the world ended**

Bucky woke to the sun in his eyes, but it did nothing to dispel the unnatural chill in his body. His left arm felt warm by comparison. Steve was there keeping him company, leaning against the wall and reading a book. As a matter of fact, he had practically moved into Bucky’s apartment, as there wasn’t much room for two in the cluttered little excuse for living quarters that he kept above his shop. Not that Bucky was complaining about it.

Natasrit had surprised them both by staying, too, crashing on Bucky’s couch and setting up a temporary base of operations on the burned-out coffee table. She had spent the last two weeks attempting to track down the Four Horsepeople and having long phone conversations with Sam while prowling around the kitchen.

Bucky could feel the Apocalypse like a weight on his shoulders. Natasrit had exorcised the Antichrist programming, but a pathway had been carved inside of him anyway. It hummed in anticipation of what was to come.

“Steve,” he said, and Steve’s attention was on him instantly.

“Yes, dear?” he asked, putting his book aside on his nightstand. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I think it’s happening today,” Bucky said, his heart clenching.

“I’ll go tell Nat-”

Bucky reached out, catching Steve’s wrist. “Wait.”

“What is it?” Steve asked, settling back down on the bed, his expression so open, so unabashedly affectionate that it made Bucky hurt everywhere inside at what he was about to say.

“Promise me,” Bucky said. “If I lose control. Promise you’ll stop me.”

Steve turned away, his face scrunching up. “I won’t need to,” he said. “You won’t forget who you are. I know you won’t.”

Bucky sat up, leaning over to get back into Steve’s angle of vision. “Promise me, angel. Please.”

Steve took in a few shuddering breaths and met Bucky’s eyes. “I hate this.”

Bucky held his gaze, knowing that what he was asking wasn’t fair. It wasn’t good. But he had to do it. He had to know there would be someone there to stop him if things went bad. Someone he could trust. And he trusted Steve more than anyone in the Universe.

“You should have asked Nat,” Steve said, pulling out of Bucky’s grasp. “Why didn’t you ask Nat?”

There was a knock at the front door, and Steve was off the bed in an instant.

“Who is it?” Bucky asked, his heart hammering in his chest.

Steve hesitated long enough to answer - “It’s Sam.” - then left the bedroom without another word.

Natasrit peeked in a moment later.

“Um, what the Heaven just happened between you two?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because he looks like he’s about to go nuclear. And I will be incredibly pissed off if it turns out that the first spark that ignited the Apocalypse was the two of you having a fight.”

“I made a huge mistake,” Bucky said.

Steve hesitated a moment in the doorway to the living room, just looking. Though he and Sam had done a lot of work to recover their friendship, they hadn’t had much chance to see each other. It was too risky, what with the big secret that Sam had been carrying around. And now, all of a sudden, there he was, live and in the flesh, wings at full falcon standard, silver sword in hand, standing in the middle of the living room as if he owned the place. Which, he sort of did, by proxy.

“Steve,” Sam said.

“Sam,” Steve said.

“Wow, are you okay?”

Steve wiped at his eyes savagely. “Yeah.”

“Okayyyyy.”

“I’m fine,” Steve said, wishing he could find Sam’s concern endearing instead of excruciatingly annoying.

“Man, you’re about as subtle as a supernova.”

Steve shrugged. “Bucky’s an asshole and this whole Apocalypse idea is stupid. So I’ve just decided it won’t happen. It absolutely can’t happen. I won’t let it. End of story.”

Sam snorted.  “Oh, so that’s how it is?”

“Oh, that’s how it is,” Steve replied.

“I wish it were that easy,” Natasrit said, appearing in the hallway. “Nevertheless, something odd is happening at the Indian Point Energy Center. I picked up a frantic signal on a restricted comms channel so I’m fairly certain it’s real. We need to go. Now.”

Then Bucky appeared, clad in his old armor, the worn black leather shining dully under the lights, a throw-back to all those centuries ago. Steve could feel his throat closing up at the sight of it. So many memories.

“Hey there,” Sam said, studying Bucky with thinly-concealed curiosity. “So you’re the famous Bærnz, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice flat. “And you’re really here to help?”

Sam frowned. “I’m on their side,” he said, nodding toward Natasrit and Steve. “Not sure about you yet.”

“Fair enough.” Bucky looked down at the ground.

They all stood in awkward silence for a moment. Steve’s heart ached. He wished he hadn’t let his emotions get the best of him. He wished he could have given Bucky the reassurance he needed. Instead, he had cast doubt on both of them, and at the worst possible time.

 _Look at me,_ Steve thought, his eyes on Bucky’s face. _I’m sorry. Look at me._ He wracked his brain for the right thing to say to bring everything back into balance, and then Natasrit leaned toward Bucky, just the slightest shift of her hips, and Bucky finally looked over at him, an apology and a question in his eyes.

“I promise,” Steve said, the words catching in his throat, barely even carrying past his lips. But he knew Bucky heard them anyway.

Bucky could hear the alarms going before the Indian Point Energy Center was even in sight. The closer they got, the more he could feel the pressure inside of him increasing, the feeling that there was something he forgot to do. The still-tender pathways carved out inside of him twinged sharply. Sure enough, he could see the busted security gate and four figures dismounting from matching, color-coded motorcycles. The Four Horsepeople had arrived. He picked up speed and flew the remaining distance as fast as possible, wing-joints creaking with the exertion.

“You don’t look like the Antichrist,” Pollution said, raising their eyebrows as Steve landed in front of them, flaming shield at the ready.

“You don’t smell like it, either,” War said.

“That’s because it’s not him,” Famine said, looking over at Bucky.

War sniffed in Bucky’s direction. “What happened to you? You’re not ready.”

“The Apocalypse has been canceled,” Steve cut in loudly.

“Just about as subtle as a supernova,” Sam said, sighing.

There was a long pause. The alarms at the nuclear power plant pressed in against Bucky, insistent and mournful. The Four Horsepeople appeared not to have heard Steve at all. Either that, or they were pointedly ignoring him. Bucky tried to stay calm, focusing on his breath, but the tension was growing out of control inside of him. It made him feel nauseous. Dizzy. There was something he was supposed to do. Something important. It was there, floating just out of reach of his conscious thoughts.

“Something’s wrong with him,” Pollution said, looking at Bucky. “He didn’t do the training.”

“He’s been purged,” Famine said.

“WE CAN STILL USE THE BODY AS A CONDUIT,” Death said.

At that, Bucky truly started to panic, the world closing in around him, the Antichrist voice still too close a memory. It crowded in around him, drowning out everything else.

“No,” he said, but his throat burned, the word trapped under an immense weight.

“I’m here, Bucky,” Steve said, taking his hand and twining their fingers together.

And Bucky finally understood why, against all odds and inhibitions, he and Steve had been drawn to each other across enemy lines. It wasn’t a frivolous urge, rebellious self-expression, irresponsible decision-making, or a selfish whim. It wasn’t any of the hurtful thoughts that had been dogging him for centuries, making him feel as if one day he would have to pay for daring to believe in something other than destruction. It was because he would rather risk it all on love than spend an eternity alone in opposition, and it was because he knew Steve felt exactly that same way, too. It was beautiful and powerful and right. And it was one of the many ways to stand in truth.

“No,” he said again, to the Four Horsepeople. His voice echoed across the landscape, reverberating against the buildings of the nuclear plant in counterpoint to the wailing of the alarms.

“No,” he said a final time, feeling his wings spreading to their full expanse, the crackle of energy building up in his hands.

Next to him, Steve was transforming into his full form, burning impossibly bright. Bucky felt the fire course through their linked hands, the sweet ash and relentless sparks. He felt someone take his other hand, heard the quiet song of spiders weaving their webs, felt the pensive weight of midwinter. Then, a burst of warmth at his back, and the harsh, joyous cry of a falcon in flight. The wolf inside of him howled, a quavering song, and it cut through to the core of him.

The energy rose up inside of him. The Antichrist programming, transformed. Not Christ. Not Antichrist. The hidden middle way that loved the light and the darkness equally, the pinprick of stars, the velvet black of the sky, the sweet, aching edges of both. It all funneled through his will, the love and hope he felt for this world that had taught him so much. It filtered through all the trust that he felt in the Universe to sort itself out without the influence of a vengeful God or a seductive Lord of Demons.

He could feel it in his hands – the power. The longing to reach out across the divide and begin again. He knelt and felt the others move with him. He pressed his palms to the asphalt, and felt Steve cover his hands with his own. Natasrit pressed up against him, both arms wrapping tightly around his waist. Samael’s hand was warm in middle of his back, right between his wings. Their energies mingled together and pooled in his core. Together, they were everything.

“Let the Earth begin again,” said Bucky, said Bærnz, said Bucæruziuthanes. The energy exploded out of him, and then he was airborne, flying backwards, wind roaring in his ears. He landed hard on his back, his wings rumpling uncomfortably underneath him. He could see nothing. All was dark. The energy was moving out at light-speed, a stone dropped in a pond, a shuddering wave of concentric circles cast out across the world. His ears were ringing. He could smell ash and ether. And then in the darkness, the first star. Then another. Then another, in quickening succession.

Bucky raised his head, squinting in the new light. The Four Horsepeople stood in the center of a blackened circle, and at the edges: Natasrit, a pinched expression on her face as she sat up; Steve, on his hands and knees, head hanging, hair dusted with ash; and Samael, wobbling as he pushed himself to his feet with his silver sword, blackened now. Bucky rolled onto his side, easing his wings out from underneath them. He could smell the asphalt again, feel it hard against his arm and hip. There was a breeze tickling his hair.

He felt the dry, dying blossom of the world finally begin to fall, pushed out of place by a fresh new bud that bloomed in its place. Same world, different potential. Death and Life were twins, but War, Famine, and Pollution had no such guaranteed work in the new way of things. And so they dissolved, and in the dust of their passing, he glimpsed the spark of infinite possibility.


	6. Epilogue: We Did Our Best

Riley had never been to Earth, and he was still pissed that Sam had asked him to stay put while the wildest shit he’d seen in ages happened down there on that dinky little planet. Someone needed to stand by at the console in Sam’s office, though, and he knew he was the only angel that Sam could trust. So he stayed. And waited, pretending to himself that he wasn’t worried. Not worried in the slightest.

When the phone rang, he almost hung it up by accident in his sheer eagerness to answer.

“Sam?” he asked, trying to school his voice to something that could at least pass as casual.

“Hey Riles,” Sam said. He sounded subdued. Tired.

“You okay?” Riley asked.

There was a sighing sound, then Sam cleared his throat. “You feel like coming to Earth?”

“Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there in two shakes.”

“Um,” Sam said. “So there’s a place called Shawarma-”

Riley heard another voice cut in faintly. Natasrit. “No, that’s the name of the food,” she was saying. “Tell him I’ll send the coordinates.”

“Nat’s gonna send you the details,” Sam said.

“All right.”

“Hurry, though.”

Riley smiled. “I will.”

The coordinates sent him to a restaurant, and he found Sam slumped next to Nasarit in an orange plastic booth, face propped up in one hand. And yep, there was the little guy – Steve. He hadn’t seen him around Heaven in millennia, but he looked just about the same. He was leaning so hard against the big, glowering demon next to him that he might as well have been sitting in his lap. Obviously, that must be the infamous Bærnz. Nat looked as composed as ever, but Riley could see her hand shaking ever so slightly as she lifted a thin yellowish stick to her mouth and chewed on it.

Then Sam caught sight of him, relief flooding across his face.

“Riles,” he said, getting to his feet. “C’mere.”

They hugged, and Riley could feel how tired Sam was by how much he seemed to be clinging to him.

“You made it,” Sam said into his ear. “I was a little scared you’d show up in a toga or something.”

“Who do you think I am?” Riley scoffed, leaning back to look at him. “I did actually check the weather before I came. Early 21st century, it said.”

Sam smiled. “Well, you look good in a suit.”

“Thanks,” Riley said, winking at him. “So… how does it feel to force re-set the Universe? Because from my end, it sure looked crazy. And you all look like you’ve been through Hell.”

Nat raised an eyebrow at him.

“I mean… through a difficult time,” Riley amended.

“French fry?” she asked, holding one of the yellow sticks up to him. “They’re surprisingly good.”

Riley sat down next to her, taking the proffered food item.

“It’s better with this,” Steve said, pushing a yellow squeeze bottle toward him.

“No way,” Bærnz said, setting a red squeeze bottle in front of the yellow one. “This is the stuff.”

“How about both?” Riley asked, and they all looked at him like he was the Second Coming of the Antichrist.

“Take it slow, Riles,” Sam said, chuckling. “How about you work your way up to that, huh? I haven’t even managed to try any of the Earth food yet.”

Riley watched as Steve painted a long thin line of yellow stuff along the top of a French fry.

“Like this,” he said, holding up the finished product while Bærnz somehow managed to look grouchier than he had a moment ago.

Riley decided to take Sam’s advice, leaving his own French fry unadorned for the moment. He took a careful nibble. It was...salty.

“Hmm,” he said, putting the fry down on the table. “That’s…quite something.”

“That’s because you didn’t try it with the mustard,” Steve said.

Nat snorted. “Leave him alone, Steve. Obviously he’s got a highly refined palate.”

“That reminds me,” Riley said, looking over at Sam slyly. “I figured you might need a familiar kind of pick-me-up after all that business.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

“I so did,” Riley said, unearthing a greasy bag of Heavenly pastries from underneath his jacket. “I hope they didn’t get too squished, because you hugged me pretty damn hard, Sam.”

“Gimme that,” Sam said, snatching at the bag. He opened it up, holding it away from his face as the bag emitted a bright, sparkling noise.

“What the Heaven-” Bærnz yelped, leaning away from the light flashing in his direction.

“Oh,” Nat said, blinking. “It must have turned into ambrosia.”

“Eh, whatever,” Sam said, scooping some chunks of light into his mouth, instantly looking a hundred times better.

“Earth’s a weird place,” Riley said, indignant that his pastry surprise had turned into ambrosia. Ambrosia just didn’t stick to your ribs like a good apple fritter did. “Don’t they have pastries here?”

“Yeah,” Nat said. “But probably not as good as Heaven’s. I wish I could still eat that stuff.”

“I don’t,” Bærnz growled.

Steve laughed, turning to kiss him on his stubbly cheek, which somewhat diminished the ferocity of his gaze.

Riley sat back. “Sorry. Didn’t really think about that.”

“It’s all right,” Nat said, leaning against him ever so slightly before she reached out to snatch his nibbled French fry from the table, downing it in two bites.

“Well,” Riley said, squeezing Sam’s knee underneath the table. “Good fucking job on Big Bang number two, anyway.”

“Oh, you know,” Bærnz said, his green eyes flashing with the slightest hint of amusement. “We did our best.”


	7. Another Epilogue of sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter to be the beginning of a Part 2 for this story, but alas, my time and energy of late has been severely compromised, so instead of having an incomplete work with one chapter sitting out there on my profile, I decided to move the chapter here and treat it as another epilogue of sorts. At this point, I have no set plans to continue writing in this AU, but who knows what may happen in the future! I may get inspired again one day when things are less hectic.
> 
> I'm sorry if you've already read this chapter and expected something brand new.

Steve could literally feel the moment that God came back, Earth’s current reality wavering uncertainly for one thousandth of a quectosecond, too fast for humans to notice. Bucky had been sitting in the back room of S.G. Rogers and Co., reading a comics compilation called _Preludes and Nocturnes_. He’d barely had a chance to get to his feet, stepping onto the sales floor and meeting Steve’s eyes, before the shop door burst open with a cheery jangle of the sleigh bells.

A beautiful brunette stepped through the doorway, hair done up perfectly underneath a jaunty red hat, immaculate black eyeliner bringing out Her brown eyes, a divine splash of red lipstick on Her mouth. She really hadn’t changed one bit since Steve had last seen Her, still dressing like a 1940s-era Earth woman, which She had done millennia before Earth had even existed. She had always had a British accent, too, for some reason.

This was definitive proof, in Steve’s opinion, that time was not actually linear. No other angel felt comfortable pointing out the continuity error of God’s fashion taste and mode of speaking, though. Even Sam. Most angelic beings were remarkably prone to favoring a “polite to a fault” approach, whereas Steve had always been devastatingly tactless. At least he had Bucky in his life now, the chaotic demon that he was. Bucky had so appreciated Steve’s observations about the non-linear nature of time that he had arranged for them to visit tomorrow yesterday. It was supposed to have been a romantic date, but they had both been so turned around by the experience that it had been more confusing than anything. They’d spent too long living solely on Earth time, probably.

“What’s all this?” God asked, Her eyes dragging over Bucky and then settling on Steve. She had thankfully not elected to use Her full God voice, nor the frightening spotlight that Steve still had nightmares about. Let it be known that lying to an omniscient being was never a good idea.

“Uh,” Steve said, a large blob of yellow paint dripping from the laden paintbrush he was still clutching in his hand. It made a loud splat as it hit the wooden floor, but he barely registered it.

“I was only away for 2 billion years,” She said, yanking the hat from Her head and flinging it over Her shoulder toward the coat rack by the door. It landed perfectly on a hook, of course. “Two billion years, Stevarandiel!”

Steve blinked at hearing his full name. It had been millennia since anyone had called him that. Way before the Garden, even. He glanced back at Bucky, who looked so overwhelmed that it was hard to tell if he’d even noticed it.

“Um,” Steve said. “Nobody knew where you went.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, but he had been waiting to say it for ages, so it was happening whether or not it was polite.

“I was at a Pansophy convention the next universe over,” God said, glaring at him. “Do you lot not read your mail? The memo was marked Important."

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Sam? I mean, the Right Hand of Heaven?” Bucky asked, doing his best not to wilt when God turned Her glare on him.

It made Steve’s heart ache, to see how bravely he was facing this being who had cast him down to Hell so long ago. But then again, God hadn’t technically been around for the actual Fall, so maybe She hadn’t had anything to do with it, after all. Riley was always going on about that, questioning whether or not She had really sanctioned most of the things Heaven had gotten up to during and after the War.

“The Right Hand of Heaven,” God scoffed. “There is no such thing any longer. Not after that ridiculous trick you pulled with your motley crew of iconoclasts. All hierarchies and designations have been overturned, unravelled, undone. Haven’t either of you been home since the universe was reset?”

Another drop of yellow paint splattered to the floor. Steve finally mustered up the presence of mind to put the paintbrush back into the jar of water on his worktable, wiping his hands on the front of his apron.

He took a breath, walking over to take Bucky’s hand in his own. “Earth is our home now.”

“Good God,” God said, the words reverberating strangely as She said them. Steve wondered if this was because She was technically invoking Her own name in vain. “So the rumours are true. You two really are an item.”

“I would have thought you already knew that,” Bucky said, and Steve squeezed his hand to warn him against challenging Her further.

“Demon instinct,” Bucky muttered. “I can’t help myself.”

“Yes, yes,” God said, massaging Her temples. “And surely you must have realized that I’ve only just returned from the universe next door, and there are far more important things that I’ve had to consider first. Omniscience is not as simple as it sounds.”

Bucky turned to Steve with a look that screamed _So Are We In Trouble Or Not?_ God sighed explosively, shrugging out of Her long blue coat and tossing it onto the coat rack as well.

“No, of course you’re not in trouble,” She said. “At least not yet. I haven’t finished reviewing everything. Do you have any tea? I’d like a cup of tea before I engage in any more omniscience.”

“I think we have some Lipton or something,” Steve said, crashing into Bucky as they both tried to go for the stairs at once. “We’re both mostly coffee drinkers.”

“Well, that won’t do,” God said, waving a hand. “Check the cupboard again.”

“Let me?” Bucky asked, looking fairly desperate to avoid being left alone with Her.

“Okay,” Steve replied. “Go on.”

He stood listening to Bucky rummaging around upstairs, staring down at the blots of yellow paint he’d spilled on the floor.

God cleared Her throat and wandered toward the back room, flopping down on the overstuffed couch and picking up Bucky’s copy of _Preludes and Nocturnes_.

“The two of you have acclimated rather well to Earth life,” She said, paging through the comic.

“You know you’re holding it upside down?” Steve asked.

“I don’t actually have to read, Stevarandiel,” She said. “I just Know.”

“It’s Steve,” he said. “Just Steve, please.” He bit off the rest of what he was going to say when he heard Bucky clattering back down the stairs.

“I brought down some of those little cookies from the French bakery,” Bucky said, somehow having managed to balance a teapot, three teacups with matching saucers, a trio of their nicest cloth napkins, and a plate full of cookies in his hands.

“Hmmm,” God said, cocking an eyebrow. “That’s quite a temptation.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, the plate of cookies tilting perilously to one side. “No! I didn’t mean—”

“Relax,” She said, lifting a hand to summon the cookies forth. “It was only a joke.”

What followed was the most awkward tea time Steve had ever experienced. It was even more awkward than the time he’d had tea with Henry VIII of England and had asked after the wrong wife. Bucky had only brought down half of the dozen cookies they had purchased just yesterday, but God must have already eaten at least ten all by Herself. He wondered if She had been conjuring them from their kitchen upstairs, or the bakery itself, or from thin air…

“Well, that was quite nice,” She said, draining Her teacup and dabbing Her mouth with a napkin. “Thank you for that, I feel much more synchronized with this universe now.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve said. “Is there...is there anything else we can do for you?”

“No, you and Bucæruziuthanes have done quite enough already.”

“Sorry,” Bucky said, bowing his head.

“Don’t be,” God said. “It makes for an interesting story, doesn’t it?”

* * *

Later that night, after Bucky had finally calmed down enough to go home and do his usual sleep routine, Steve decided to join him. He’d planned to stay up working on his latest painting, since he really didn’t need to sleep, but once Bucky had left the shop, he hadn’t been able to concentrate. He must be more rattled from interacting with God than he had realized.

When he got to Bucky’s apartment, Bucky was still up, reading in bed. This time it was a paperback book called _Small Gods_.

“It’d be funny if God had showed up as a tortoise,” he said, as Steve shed his clothes and crawled into bed next to him.

“Huh?”

“This book,” Bucky said. “The god in this book manifests into the body of a tortoise when he comes back.”

“Don’t even.” Steve plucked the book from his hands.

Bucky lunged after it. “Hey! I was in the middle of a sentence!”

“You want to piss Her off for real or what?” Steve asked, tossing the book across the room.

“How _dare_ you, Stevarandiel!”

Steve froze, staring at him. “Damn it! You _did_ hear it!”

Bucky grinned. “I sure as Heaven did.”

“It’s the worst name ever.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Bucky said, leaning over to kiss the tip of Steve’s nose. “Just like you.”

“Ugh, shut up. Or I’ll call you Bucæruziuthanes exclusively for the rest of eternity.”

Bucky drew back, surprised.

“I’m not kidding around,” Steve added.

“Yeah, I got that.” Bucky crossed his arms. “No need to be savage about it.”

“Sorry.” Steve bit his lip, looking across the room. The poor book had landed half-open on the carpet. “I really hate that name, Buck. It reminds me of who I used to be before Earth.”

“Oh.” Bucky’s mouth twisted unhappily. “I’m sorry, angel. I’ll never use it again. As a matter of fact, I’ve forgotten it already.” He made a motion with his hand as if he’d just plucked the name right from his memory. “See? It’s gone.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Steve said, pulling Bucky close so he could kiss the frown from his lips.


End file.
